"I have MBH." he whispered. "Okay if I wait for you outside?"
I smiled and said, "Sure baby, I'll see you out there."
A few minutes later, a waiter came by with our check. He glanced at it, then back at me, and asked, "You were here with someone, right?"
"Yes," I said, "I'm here with my husband, but he has MBH."
"Oh! I am so sorry," he said. A hesitant moment later he asked, "Um, ... what is MBH?"
"It stands for My Butt Hurts, " I said rather flatly.
His expression went from empathy to stunned. Within a heartbeat, he turned on his heels and walked away. True story.
I mention this little vignette as introduction to the fact that I have also developed MBH, though in the trade it is commonly referred to as Writer's Butt. Alas, this is not a mild, nor a laughable, affliction.
As a poet. I can walk the room and elsewhere, attend briefly to other needful things, and am only faintly aware of the world from behind my glazed-over eyes. Writing poetry is so much more mobile.
As an author, I now find myself being too well rooted to my seat for far too long. The accompanying symptoms come on so gradually, I scarcely notice them at all, until my calves begin to seize and scream!
And, I now wake up every morning with the essence of my "novel" floating vaguely in my mind, teasing at me to open the file and look more closely at it, work on it, immerse myself in it's greedy needs...
I mentioned these details to Emily Thompson, Author of the Clockwork Twist series. She smiled and gently patted me on the shoulder. "Well, congratulations!" she said. "You're an author!"
Wow! In my head, I had to publish my "novel" before I could consider myself "an author." I do have all the symptoms, though. Okay then! But for now, I'm sticking with calling it MBH.